Trapped
by Eryn Lasgalen
Summary: Legolas is trapped in a prison he never even knew was there and he’s desperate to get out. Legolas/Aragorn. Angst. AU. [Chapter Four]
1. I

Trapped

Legolas is trapped in a prison he never even knew was there and he's desperate to get out. Legolas/Aragorn. Angst. AU.

Disclaimer: I own my fingers. I own my thumbs. I own my keyboard. I certainly own my brain. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**Chapter One: Formality**

_"Even the smallest noble has duties to do, things he must perform to keep his lands running. But, they never really go above the small things, the social ladder, and the problems with the servants._

_When you're a prince, even the youngest, it's harder, because you have to do your duty at the age of around five (for an elf) or six and go up. And the duty weighs you down, consumes you totally. Nobles can escape, but we're born into the yoke and we can't imagine any way out._

_I feel sorry for my oldest brother, most. He's going to have to be king, going to be forced into further slavery. But, he's got a reward at the end, we haven't. That's what makes it so difficult. We're trapped in formality, there's no way out."_

Legolas stopped writing and blotted the ink, putting the pen and the inkwell back. He closed his book, his diary a small leather bound thing and knelt down to slip it into the small cavity where the floor and stone wall met, something worn away by time. It was invisible; only someone who knew it was there could possibly find it. 

He sighed, wistfully, and then stood up, brushing back his silken hair and examined himself critically in the mirror that hung on the wall. Green robes, the colour of the house of Mirkwood, a band of silver declaring that he was a prince. Bare feet – elves only wore shoes in extreme conditions. His azure eyes stared coolly back and he felt like shooting his arrogant, icy reflection. It told so little – only the person behind the eyes knew there was more and that no one would ever find it.

He stopped wallowing in self-pity and wondered what the hour was. It would soon be time for his music lesson (the princes were expected to play the harp, the flute and the clarinet (A/N: Sorry, couldn't resist) excellently; the hall often rang with their music) and his music teacher would be extremely annoyed if he was late. He stepped outside the room, one of the many used by the princes as studies, and looked up and down the corridor to see if a servant was nearby. There was. And she was obviously searching for him, opening each door, muttering an apology to his brothers and going to the next one.

Legolas walked over to her, "Do you know what the time is?" he asked, curtly.

She dropped her brown eyes, "It's nearly four, lord."

"Good." Legolas turned away, but the girl cut in.

"Excuse me, lord, but… a message, from the King."

Legolas turned around, sharply. "You didn't speak of this before. What is this message?"

"Lord, a party of elves sent from Rivendell are coming to dine with your father tonight. The king bids you be ready by seven at the latest and to bring your instruments."

Legolas sighed. He hated performing in front of a crowd of strangers, it made him nervous. He realized the servant was still standing there, blushing.

"Thank you," he said, harshly. "You may go about your business."

The girl was surprised at how abrupt the prince was, but went about her business, scuttling along the corridor, not daring to look back. Legolas moaned under his breath. He did not want another lock to be snapped on the gold cage. But there was nothing else except his duty. He had to do it.

*    *    *

At seven exactly, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood walked regally down the stairs, the last of his brothers to join the party, but undoubtedly one of the fairest. 

He had been given the softer looks of his mother who was one of the most beautiful ever to have walked the earth. His famed stubbornness came from Thranduil, so did most of his other characteristics, pride, secretiveness… There were many more.

Yet, there was another two inherited from his mother, pity and sentiment, but they did not dominate his emotions as much as pride, which held him up in his troubles.

Legolas walked in between his kinsmen and the strangers. Social events bored him terribly and so he had developed a way of becoming "invisible" – he would make himself inconspicuous, completely. No one would notice him; Thranduil would berate him afterwards for not being there.

He concentrated hard and then just walked, casually through the elves and reached the recess in the wall where he usually went on these occasions. It was masked by a red velvet curtain and though it was sometimes chilly, the fire had had a good chance to warm the room and even the stones of the hall itself were slightly tepid against his delicate fingers.

He pulled back the curtain and jumped in surprise. There was someone sitting in his spot, reading a book. Legolas decided to retreat, but the person had seen him. He lifted his head and regarded the elf with gentle, quizzical grey eyes.

"You can sit here, lord," he said, his voice gentle. "These are not my halls and you do not disturb me."

Legolas smiled and nodded a thank you and sat down. It was obvious the Man, it was a Man, did not know who he was. That was a relief; he could stay here for a while.

He took out his diary, taken after his lesson, and started to write, but after a long silent while, the Man finished his book, and began to talk.

"You're from Mirkwood?" he said, "I did not see you in the group on the way here."

Legolas nodded, "This is my country. You're from Rivendell?"

The Man gave a quiet breathy laugh, "Yes. My name is Estel."

Legolas scrambled for a name, "You don't need to know mine yet… I mean you'll find out very soon…" he spluttered inelegantly.

Estel laughed, "Well what can I call you, lord?"

"I… erm… oh, dina," Legolas hissed as he heard the voice of his father outside the recess. He closed his eyes. Go away. Don't let Thranduil find us here. He would never forgive me…

Gradually Thranduil's voice faded away and Legolas opened his eyes. Estel was staring at him. "What was that about?" he said, quietly.

"N…nothing," Legolas stammered, "Just…"

"That was the King of Mirkwood. You're not meant to be serving are you?" he paused, then added, "Dina."

Legolas smiled weakly, "No. I'm exempt from serving. I… just hate crowds."

"We share an interest then, Dina."

"Aye…" Legolas dropped his gaze and felt himself flushing. He returned to his diary, writing fast and furious in an effort to escape here in his thoughts, in written ink…

He was so absorbed he only noticed it was time for the princes to play to the guests when the Man clutched at his sleeve.

"Dina? The princes of Mirkwood are about to play… aren't you going to listen? They are said to be the finest musicians in the whole of Arda."

To his surprise Dina leapt up and, pushing back the curtain, abruptly vanished without so much as a word. The Man looked surprised, but then considered Dina was probably a skiving servant and that the words had recalled him to his duty.

He didn't know how accurate his words were.

-TBC-


	2. II

Trapped

Legolas is trapped in a prison he never even knew was there and he's desperate to get out. Legolas/Aragorn. Angst. AU.

Disclaimer: I own my fingers. I own my thumbs. I own my keyboard. I certainly own my brain. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**Chapter Two: Thinking**

_"I have no idea what a Man is doing in __Mirkwood__ with the Rivendell elves, but I shall ask Thranduil. It seems wildly unlikely that he is a noble lord due to his dress. Yet, I hardly know why I am discussing the matter. I am safe behind this curtain and Estel does not seek to throw me out into the merciless arms of my father. He doesn't even know who I am, thank Elbereth! That proves he has little or no acquaintance with __Mirkwood_ before. I hardly blame him, I rarely venture beyond ___Southern __Mirkwood__. There are things of dark evil there, I know. Once it was _Greenwood___ the Great – but times change and the merriest ones fade fastest, like…"_

The elves gathered round, their fair faces lifted to the stars dimly visible through the trees. Legolas started to tremble slightly with nerves. He always did when playing to strangers was involved, though he was extremely good even for a royal prince.

Thranduil had chosen to make them play the flute, all the same instrument for once. It was not Legolas' personal favourite, but he liked the sound, it mirrored the stars silent in their heavens, blending soul with mirror images.

There was a total silence and Legolas wondered if Estel would come out to listen. But, no, he did not like crowds. It was highly possible he would miss this, and save Legolas from embarrassing explanations.

They began. It had been recently composed by the heir and was extremely complex, yet light and easy on the ear and beautiful when it soared into the heavens. Legolas could not relax however, making sure that Estel was not going to come out and find him playing as the son of Thranduil.

Thank Elbereth, the song had finished, but if he knew his father then there would be about five or six more of the same thread. He was so arrogant when it came to his family, never giving a thought to how they may feel.

He guessed that he had inherited that quality and feared to let it slip. He was firm that he never would, but in worry or anguish he might just. He didn't want to hurt his children like Thranduil had done, even without knowing. Thranduil was a good father, but he was a little too harsh, he passed judgment without hearing the whole story, he bruised emotionally. He wanted his sons to be _perfect_. Second best was simply not good enough.

Legolas felt tears pricking his eyes as memory came and took him, flooding out his insides and replacing them with solid led, even as he played on. Music was just an instinct, something he did unconsciously without being told while his mind roared ahead, something beyond music, something beyond comprehension.

Something beyond logic as well. Music was logical, neat, simple, but his mind was a vast confusion of notes that blended and sung in complex melody, better than any logical arrangement of notes could ever do and needing no instruments but the words of his inner voice to play the tune.

He finished the last, a confusing round and stood patiently until his father came up and whispered a few words in each son's ear.

[Good, Legolas, but you could do better. Practice more and you'll get there.]

Legolas smiled in pleasure. It was not often that he got a compliment from his father that didn't have a backlash. Do better next time, well he would practice more. He'd get there in the end; he had eternity to do it in.

He was excused from the merry-making and slunk back to the curtain, remembering that he had left his diary on the seat. However, the curtain had been drawn back and the alcove was empty and chilled. A cold dread rose inside Legolas' heart. Maybe Estel had been watching.

His diary lay, where he had left it. He swooped down to pick it up. He could be less lucky next time. Men were so untrustworthy, he had to be careful or that Estel could have been reading aloud his thoughts to the King himself.

When he picked up the book, he heard a small cling and, bending down, saw it was a ring. It had been left there, under the diary for him to find, Legolas knew that much. It could not possibly have been placed there by accident.

It was silver with some nameless gem set in the centre – very beautiful, but it would be far too delicate for Estel's hand, maybe for that of a woman – or an elf.

He slipped it on, holding it up so that it glittered in the light. He wouldn't keep it forever, naturally. He would find this Estel and tell him, give it back. Then he would see what he would see.

The elf slipped out, unaware that in the shadows of the hall a Man sat watching.

-TBC-


	3. III

Trapped

Legolas is trapped in a prison he never even knew was there and he's desperate to get out. Legolas/Aragorn. Angst. AU.

Disclaimer: I own my fingers. I own my thumbs. I own my keyboard. I certainly own my brain. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Warning: Slash in later chapters.

A/N: Some of the things mentioned in this chapter are completely unlike elvish custom. I do complete injustice to Thranduil in this story. Incidentally the reasons why Legolas calls his father by his first name will be explained further on. The ring mentioned is not linked to the One Ring at all and it has nothing to do with the Quest, except the fact I got the idea of Legolas putting his ring around his neck. This is entirely AU.

**Chapter Three: The Truth**

_"It is a fair thing indeed, not too heavily wrought and the gem in the middle is alike to the Simaril stones of long ago… yet nothing can be alike to the Simarils…. Estel entrusted it to me – deliberately placed under my diary. It obviously conveys some kind of message as it is a most valuable ring… It is now three days since the party from Rivendell left our lands, yet Thranduil seems to be getting more morose. He accused me of not showing "any interest in your duties as son of the King" I try. But, he is right. I would much rather prefer to be a common Elf, working in the kitchens and hallways than the one holding the reins to this entire splendor."_

His hand was curled around the ring as he spoke, feeling its already-comforting band. He didn't like putting it on. No, he would not put it on. He slipped it onto a chain that his mother had given him, a long, long time ago… and slipped that over his head. It was invisible, but he could feel its comforting pressure against his skin. He wondered if he died young of a wound of some sort, what Thranduil would make of it, if he could make anything of it…

Someone knocked at the door, "Lord? I bring a message from the King."

"Enter," Legolas said, as haughtily as he could.

The girl entered, the same one that he had stopped in the corridor. "Your father, milord…" she stammered, "He demands an audience."

Legolas smiled. He reckoned he'd been too strict on the girl; she could not have been more than nine years old.

"I've been a little hard on you recently," he apologized, smiling at her. "What's your name?"

"Amnien."

"I'll remember that, Amnien." She smiled and quickly quitted the room.

His father wanted to see him. Legolas dimly wondered why on earth…? He had done nothing wrong had he? If he had, then he'd done it in ignorance. Surely…

He trembled as he brushed his hair back, preparatory to plaiting it into warrior braids. He remembered his father teaching him for the first time, impatient when Legolas hadn't got it straight away.

In fact, looking back, Thranduil had always been impatient with Legolas' progress. Always. He hadn't got those characteristics…

Legolas opened the door, cautiously and stepped out into the passage, making his way towards Thranduil's rooms, in the same area of the palace as his own – but so chilly! He hated stone, it seemed to trap in all the cold and the dirt… very unelvish.

He sighed. His father was very eccentric when it came to stone and jewels… they were very dwarvish passions and this had led to "comments" in the servant's quarters…

He knew what they called his father and he held it to him, so it wouldn't hurt his family… maybe Amnien would help there. She was only nine and far too innocent to be mixed up in court intrigues.

His father's quarters were flanked by many guards on duty, with their arrows and daggers surprisingly lax, but when the prince walked by they straightened up noticeably and gripped their weapons tighter.

_As if Thranduil was trying to kill me._

He suppressed a smile and passed through the open door into Thranduil's rooms.

He was sitting alone, but on Legolas' entry he stood up and demanded a private conference. The guards, looking slightly surprised, shut the doors and they were left alone.

"Legolas," Thranduil began, "I have some good news for you."

"Yes, lord,"

"You are to be married, Legolas."

The prince gave a quick indrawn breath and stepped back. "Married, lord?"

"Yes," Thranduil smiled. "It's a good match, and the lady in question is worth allying to us."

"Father…" Legolas whispered, "I do not have any wish to marry."

Thranduil, even then, did not look bothered, "Silly prejudices, Legolas! She is one of the fairest maidens in Arda, or I am a fool."

"I don't doubt her fairness," Legolas whispered, "I just do not wish to be married."

"Why not? I know it is hardly in the tradition of the Kings of Mirkwood to pick brides out for their sons, but what was I to do? You showed no interest in any maidens, not even the ones which I asked you to accompany! Legolas, you were _asking_ for this to happen!"

"Nay! Never!" Legolas shouted, a tinge of bitterness in his voice, "Why must you marry me off to someone I do not know and can _never_, _never_ love."

"Legolas…it is simply a matter of getting to know her!"

"NO!" Legolas yelled. "I can never love her… because…"

"Why?"

"Because…"

"I've lost patience. Get out of my sight, Legolas."

Legolas bowed, and left, the only impulse in his mind was to get out, get out.

He was shocked with his behavior… and at the behavior of someone who called himself his father. He sat very still for a long time in his room and Amnien sat outside the door waiting and listening.

-TBC-


	4. IV

Trapped

Legolas is trapped in a prison he never even knew was there and he's desperate to get out. Legolas/Aragorn. Angst. AU.

Disclaimer: I own my fingers. I own my thumbs. I own my keyboard. I certainly own my brain. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Warning: Slash in later chapters.

A/N: I am writing up a thanks to all the reviewers (25, the last time I looked); if you don't want your name to be on the e-mail, please say so, either by e-mail or review. I don't want you to think I clog up your e-mail.

Also, after questions, this story is pre-Fellowship, probably around sixty years, so Estel would have been a fairly young man. (Granted he was eighty when he went on the Fellowship)

**Chapter Three: Resignation**

_"To give myself up to matrimony would to be to burden a girl with a loveless marriage. I could never do that. Thranduil, I know, doesn't understand. I don't expect him to. He got married and everything was perfect for him and then after the attack, everything seems to have been ruined. He's got harder on us though I can barely remember him as he used to be. Was he like this when I was a child, when my brothers were children? I can't remember, I confess it, I can't remember my mother. My mother._"

Legolas looked at the page emotionlessly and shut the book and put it away, as if for the last time. His fingers went to the ring again.

"Amnien?"

"Yes, sir?"

She came into the room. "What is it?"

"Could you bring a messenger to me, I need to send word to Rivendell."

"Yes, sir."

Legolas turned the ring over in his fingers as he pondered over a note and then set it aside as he wrote it, quickly, in slightly cramped Westron and signed it, _Dina_. He put the ring and the letter in the envelope and handed it to Amnien.

"Send that to Estel, from Rivendell… the Man. You remember?"

Amnien nodded, "Yes, I remember."

"Tell the messenger that I'll meet Estel in the kitchen-gardens, but on no account is he to tell the Man that I am…"

"Yes, sir," Amnien's mouth twitched. She wasn't stupid, that girl. There'd be no problems with her.

Legolas closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had when stressed. He didn't know if Estel would come and if he did, would he refuse to help him?

No, Estel was his only card out of here; he had to play it well. Better than he had played his father.

*    *    *

Estel tapped his feet, his eyes scanning over the complex page of elvish he'd been told to translate for Elrohir, who was in Lothlorien, visiting his grandmother. Elladan was next to him now, ruing the separation and trying to keep himself usefully occupied.

"No," he said, groaning, "Estel, your grammar…! It's atrocious! That's the male tense, you just said that Beren kissed him. It was Luthien, who was female, so?"

"Oh." Estel quickly corrected it. "It's hard for you when it isn't your native language," he complained.

"You've known it since you were four. You should be fluent now, Estel."

"I haven't got the motivation, it's not my own language."

"You spent more time learning Westron."

"Because it's my own language," Estel snapped, losing patience. "I'm not an elf and I don't see why I should put that language over learning my own!" He dropped his voice, "Don't you see, Elladan, that I can't be an elf, even if I wanted to? I can't marry one, I can't have them as my family, we're a different species. As much as I hate it, I have to plan my own destiny now, not one that concedes with the elven language for the convenience of all that speak it!"

Elladan looked shocked, "Sometimes, Estel, you forget your thanks. You should be fluent in this language, you will be fluent in this language – even if I have to make you."

"Why?" Estel pleaded.

"Because it's ours!" Elladan snapped, "We have put years into teaching you, we regard you as one of the family. We want you to know our language so it's easier for all of us. Since when have you been so thankless, Estel?"

Estel sighed, "I am grateful for your tutoring, Elladan and yet, though I honour and respect this family you forget that I am not one of them."

"It's incredibly easy to forget?" Elladan murmured.

"Incredibly."

"I can't believe that."

"But it is true. Think about it, I've been in your care since I was a very young child, you've seen me through everything… and you think you can't watch my death without a pang of pain?"

"I suppose not," Elladan, hugging Estel. "I hate to think you are not immortal, I…"

Someone ran up, "Estel, lord? A letter to you from Mirkwood."

Estel jumped, "Dina?" he said, sharply, "Is it…"

"I don't know, lord."

Estel took it from him and opened the envelope.

-TBC-


End file.
